


You, my summer

by pinksundays



Series: Patron of the Arts: Josephine [1]
Category: Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Patron of the Arts, Pre-Inquisition, Romance, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22864024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinksundays/pseuds/pinksundays
Summary: A lifetime ago, the Ambassador of the Inquisition was once a bard. A lifetime ago, she was once in love.
Relationships: Josephine Montilyet/Original Character
Series: Patron of the Arts: Josephine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643524
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	You, my summer

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the smaller series that I’m working on while taking a break from bakerfic! I hope you enjoy this short five-part series! This while series is beta-read by my wonderful friend CuriousThimble as always ❤️

* * *

Her name was _Josephine Cherette Montilyet_ , and tonight, she needed a drink.

The door to the quaint tavern swung open, and a woman in simple robes exited, scanning her surroundings briefly before she retreated to the wooden bench outside. Waiting.

Josephine poured herself another round of _Antivan Sip-Sip_ , emptying the bottle completely—then set it aside on the balcony. A gust of winter from the Frostback mountains picked up, blowing through the sky’s fortress and ruffling through her loose hair. Her beautiful, dark curls. Hair that belonged not between the folds of winter, trapped in tight braids and buns. But free, wavy locks that curled gently down to her waist, teased by a summer’s playful breeze against the picturesque salty seas of her homeland.

She drank, and sighed, then drank again—her slightly rosy lips now tainted red as she leaned against the balcony where the First Enchanter liked to gather her thoughts.

The dwarven storyteller—Ser Tethras—called to her, asking of her well-being for it was an uncommon sight to see her up so late. Late, even for her. After a friendly exchange, they both realized that sleep would not take them that night. Next to them on each side of the glass-stained doors, were lush velvet curtains of pine needle green that hung at an impossible height. Ser Tethras reached behind one of the curtains and in the next second, a bottle of liquor and goblet emerged, now stolen by the hand of the rogue. Leaning against the small archway of the balcony, he presented it to Josephine—much to her delight—and she gushed about the rarity of the extravagant find. She was always one for a good drink, and could surprisingly hold it well, too.

☀️ ☀️ ☀️

Under the moon, they spoke of their council, of friends, of their... _Inquisitor._ Of a bird left somewhere unreachable. There was unimaginable sadness in his eyes, but more so, there was fury deep within.

 _I am sorry for your loss, Varric,_ she said, empathy fluttering in her voice as she placed a gentle hand onto his shoulder for comfort. Kind. She was always kind.

 _Yeah, well. You know our Inquisitor. Always the asshole,_ he remarked begrudgingly, swirling the liquid in his goblet.

A smirk lifted the side of her lips, and she raised hers to him. _I would have put it in a much nicer way, but I find myself in_ unfortunate _agreement with your sentiments._

Their drinks clink—in understanding and in friendship. _That, I will gladly drink to, m’lady._

In the cold, the woman still sat patiently. In the hour that passed, she hadn’t moved an inch until finally, a voice called her name from across the area. To that, her head lifted at the familiarity as relief and warmth replaced the worry on her face. She welcomed him with open arms, and he lifted her off her feet effortlessly in a dizzying, excited spin before they tumbled to the ground together.

Happy. Together.

Josephine’s expression flickered and she looked away—as if her heart recoiled in hurt at the sight of two doves in love in the midst of war. In another life, she would’ve marveled at the sight of such romantic gestures and circumstance. Such a sight would’ve inspired her to write songs, and poems so beautiful that it would put her own elegant penmanship to gentle shame.

With a hand to her chest, Josephine sat herself on the loveseat while Ser Tethras closed the doors to the balcony. A minute passed before she turned back to the storyteller, asking what the hardest part about watching the bird fly was. Taking a seat next to her, he exhaled, his hands folding in each other a number of times as he tried to process his thoughts. With his reply, came a name of a woman—a name that ironically meant _goodbye_ in Antivan. The kindly Antivan in front of him sighed, and told him of such a letter that she wrote to herself many years ago. _A eulogy if you will,_ she admitted and her expression pained again.

_A friend?_

Josephine shook her head.

 _A lover,_ she said, and that was when her face finally cracked. It was strange to have my name on her lips again, and I watch as Josephine uttered it as she once did so many years ago. She rolled the Rs with grace, and her lips pursed slightly at the vowels with the simplest movements. She touched the goblet to her lips, as she once did mine, drinking its contents, as she once did my love. I recalled the warmth she held in her being. I was Winter, and Josephine was the Summer that melted into my heart.

 _Lorenzo was my first love, and I killed him,_ she said tearfully, and I felt the heartbreak in her voice. 


End file.
